wilbursmith_warlock-第124部分

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tory　was　assured。
　　
　　It　took　him　two　more　days　to　disembark　all　his　squadrons；　and　to　assemble　the　chariots。　On　the　second　evening　he　was　ready　to　begin　the　forced　march　on　Gallala。
　　
　　With　the　waterskins　filled；　the　leading　cohorts　pulled　out　of　Safaga　as　soon　as　the　heat　went　out　of　the　sinking　sun。　Each　of　the　chariots　had　two　spare　teams　behind　it　on　lead　reins。　They　would　not　stop　during　the　night　to　rest　the　horses；　but　would　change　them　as　they　tired。　Any　exhausted　animals　would　be　turned　loose　and　left　behind　for　the　remount　herds　to　bring　up。
　　
　　Trok　led　the　vanguard；　and　set　a　killing　pace；　alternately　walking　up　the　inclines；　then　whipping　the　horses　into　a　trot　or　a　canter　downhill　and　on　level　ground。　Once　the　waterskins　were　empty　there　was　no　turning　back。　By　mid…morning　the　following　day　the　heat　had　bee　fierce；　and　they　had　used　up　most　of　the　spare　horses。
　　
　　The　Bedouin　guides　kept　assuring　Trok　that　Gallala　was　not　far　ahead；　but　each　time　they　topped　a　rise　the　same　daunting　vista　of　rock　and　baked　earth　shimmered　in　the　heat　mirage　ahead。
　　
　　In　the　late　afternoon　the　Bedouin　guides　deserted。　With　the　grace　of　djinns　they　melted　away　into　the　heat　mirage；　and　though　Trok　sent　a　brace　of　chariots　after　them　they　were　never　seen　again。
　　
　　'I　warned　you；'　Ishtar　the　Mede　told　Trok　smugly。　'You　should　have　listened　to　my　advice。　Those　godless　creatures　were　probably　in　the　pay　of　Taita　the　Warlock。　Almost　certainly　he　has　masked　the　road；　and　led　us　astray。　We　do　not　know　how　far　it　is　to　this　mythical　Gallala；　or　for　that　matter　if　it　really　exists。'　For　this　uninvited　opinion；　Trok　lashed　him　across　his　tattooed　face。　This　did　nothing　to　alleviate　the　sense　of　doom　and　despondency　that　threatened　to　overwhelm　Trok。　He　whipped　up　the　horses　once　more　and　took　them　up　the　next　long；　stony　incline　that　faced　them。　He　wondered　how　many　more　lay　ahead。　They　were　almost　at　the　end　of　their　tether；　and　he　doubted　they　could　keep　going　through　the　night。
　　
　　Somehow　they　kept　struggling　onwards；　or　at　least　most　of　his　force　did。　Fifty　or　sixty　chariots　burned　out　their　last　teams　of　horses；　and　Trok　left　them　scattered　back　along　the　road。
　　
　　The　sun　came　up　on　the　second　day；　warm　as　a　kiss　after　the　chill　of　the　night；　but　it　was　a　treacherous　kiss。　Soon　it　stung　and　dazzled　their　bloodshot　eyes。　For　the　first　time　Trok　faced　the　possibility　of　dying　here　on　this　dreadful　road　to　nowhere。
　　
　　'One　more　hill；'　he　called　to　his　last　team　of　horses；　and　tried　to　whip　them　into　a　trot；　but　they　stumbled　up　the　easy　incline　with　their　heads　hanging；　and　the　sweat　long　ago　dried　to　white　salt　on　their　flanks。　Just　below　the　crest　Trok　looked　back　down　the　straggling　column　of　his　army。　Even　without　counting　them　he　saw　that　he　had　lost　half　of　his　chariots。　Hundreds　of　dismounted　troopers　were　staggering　along　behind　the　column；　but　even　as　he　watched　he　saw　two　or　three　fall　and　lie　beside　the　track　like　dead　men。　There　were　vultures　in　the　sky　following　them；　hundreds　of　dark　specks　turning　in　high　circles　against　the　blue。　He　saw　some　slant　down　to　the　feast　he　had　prepared　for　them。
　　
　　There　is　only　one　way；'　he　told　Ishtar；　'and　that　is　forward。'　He　cracked　the　whip　over　the　backs　of　his　team；　and　they　went　on　painfully。
　　
　　They　reached　the　top　of　the　hill；　and　Trok　gawked　in　astonishment。　The　scene　in　the　valley　below　him　was　like　nothing　he　had　ever　imagined。　The　ruins　of　the　ancient　city　rose　before　him。　Their　outline　seemed　ghostly　but　eternal。　As　he　had　been　promised；　the　city　was　surrounded　by　fields　of　cool　green；　and　a　network　of　sparkling　water　canals。　His　horses　smelt　the　water　and　strained　against　the　reins　with　renewed　strength。
　　
　　Even　in　his　desperate　haste；　Trok　took　time　to　assess　the　tactical　situation。　He　saw　at　once　that　the　city　was　helpless　and　undefended。　The　gates　stood　wide　open　and　from　them　poured　the　panic…stricken　rabble　of　the　escaping　populace。　Carrying　their　children　and　pathetic　bundles　of　possessions　they　streamed　away　up　the　narrow　but　steep…sided　valley　to　the　west　of　Gallala。　A　few　foot…soldiers　mingled　with　the　refugees；　but　they　were　obviously　in　rout　and　out　of　hand。　There　was　no　sign　of　cavalry　or　of　fighting　chariots。　They　were　a　flock　of　sheep　before　the　wolf　pack；　but　the　wolves　were　parched　and　weak　with　thirst。
　　
　　'Seueth　has　delivered　them　into　our　hands；'　Trok　shouted　with　triumph。　'Before　the　sun　sets　this　day　you　will　have　more　women　and　gold　than　you　can　use！'
　　
　　The　cry　was　taken　up　by　the　men　who　followed　him　over　the　ridge；　and　they　rode　down　as　fast　as　their　exhausted　horses　could　move　to　the　first　irrigation　ditch。　They　spread　out　along　the　length　of　it；　the　horses　sucking　up　the　blessed　liquid　until　their　bellies　swelled　as　though　in　pregnancy。　The　men　threw　themselves　full…length　along　the　bank；　plunging　their　faces　under；　or　filling　their　helmets　and　pouring　it　over　their　heads　and　down　their　throats。
　　
　　*　　*　　*
　　
　　'You　should　have　let　me　poison　the　irrigation　canals；'　Nefer　said　flatly；　as　they　watched　from　the　other　side　of　the　valley。
　　
　　'You　know　better　than　that。'　Taita　shook　his　silver　head。　That　would　have　been　an　offence　that　the　gods　would　never　forgive。　In　this　bitter　land　only　Seth　or　Seueth　could　contemplate　such　a　foul　deed。'
　　
　　'On　this　day　I　could　play　Seth　willingly　enough。'　Nefer　smiled　bleakly；　but　he　said　it　merely　to　provoke　the　Magus。　'Your　two　rogues　have　done　well。'　He　glanced　at　the　two　ragged　Bedouin　who　knelt　beside　Taita。　'Pay　them　and　let　them　go。'
　　
　　They　place　no　value　on　gold；'　Taita　explained。　'When　I　lived　at　Gebel　Nagara　they　brought　their　children　to　me；　and　I　cured　them　of　the　Yellow　Flowers。'　He　made　a　sign　of　blessing　over　the　crouching　men　and　said　a　few　words　to　them　in　their　dialect；　thanking　them　for　risking　their　lives　to　mislead　Trok；　and　promising　them　his　future　protection。　They　kissed　his　feet　then　slipped　away　among　the　boulders。
　　
　　Taita　and　Nefer　gave　their　full　attention　to　the　unfolding　battle　in　the　valley　below。　Trok's　men　and　horses　had　drunk　until　their　bellies　bulged　and　now　they　were　mounting。　Even　though　he　had　lost　so　many　chariots　on　the　approach　march；　Trok　still　outnumbered　Nefer's　forces　at　least　three　to　one。
　　
　　'We　dare　not　meet　him　on　open　ground；'　Nefer　mused；　and　looked　down　upon　the　mass　of　refugees　escaping　up　the　valley　below　them。　To　begin　with　there　had　been　very　few　women　in　the　city…Nefer　had　deliberately　kept　their　numbers　down　to　eke　out　the　reserves　of　food　for　his　fighting　men…and　even　they；　including　Mintaka　and　Merykara；　together　with　all　the　children；　the　sick　and　wounded；　had　been　evacuated　from　Gallala　two　days　before。　Meren　had　gone　on　one　of　the　wagons　carrying　the　contents　of　the　treasury；　the　gold　they　had　lifted　from　the　false　pharaohs。　Nefer　had　sent　them　all　to　Gebel　Nagara；　where　Trok　would　never　find　them；　and　the　tiny　spring　of　water　would　just　support　them　until　after　the　battle　was　decided。
　　
　　Now　Gallala　was　stripped　of　everything　of　value；　every　chariot；　weapon　and　piece　of　armour。　He　gazed　down　on　the　refugees　with　satisfaction。　Even　from　this　close　it　was　difficult　to　tell　that　they　were　not　women　and　civilians；　but　disguised　foot…soldiers。　Many　of　these　stalwarts　were　tripping　and　stumbling　in　their　long　skirts　and　shawls。　The　bundles　they　carried　in　their　arms　were　not　swaddled　infants；　but　their　bows　and　swords　wrapped　in　shawls。　Their　long　lances　had　been　cached　among　the　rocks　higher　up　the　valley　were　his　main　force　was　concealed。
　　
　　All　Trok's　chariots　had　finished　watering　and　they　were　ing　on　across　the　pastures　in　tight　and　ordered　formations；　wave　after　wave　of　fighting　vehicles。　The　water　had　revived　then　miraculously；　and　before　them　lay　the　promise　of　plunder　and　rapine。
　　
　　'Pray　Horus　that　we　can　entice　Trok　to　take　up　the　pursuit　and　enter　the　valley；'　Nefer　whispered。　'If　he　does　not　take　the　bait　and　seizes　the　undefended　city　instead；　then　he　denies　us　the　water　and　grazing。　We　would　be　forced　to　e　to　battle　on　the　open　ground　where　he　would　have　every　advantage。'
　　
　　Taita　said　nothing。　He　stood　with　the　golden　Periapt　pressed　to　his　lips　and　his　eyes　turned　upwards　in　the　attitude　the　Nefer　had　e　to　know　so　well。
　　
　　The　enemy　were　close　enough　now　for　Nefer　to　be　able　to　pick　out　Trok's　chariot　among　the　moving　mass　of　vehicles；　as　it　wheeled　into　a　position　across　the　mouth　of　the　valley　crowded　with　the　fleeing　refugees。　Trok　was　in　the　centre　of　the　leading　rank；　ten　of　his　chariots　on　each　of　his　flanks；　on　a　front　wide　enough　to　sweep　the　valley　from　side　to　side。　Behind　him　the　rest　of　his　chariots　were　formed　up。　The　dust　settled　around　them　and　a　terrible　silence　fell　over　them。　The　only　sound　was　the　faint　babble　and　hubbub　of　the　fleeing　rabble　in　the　gut　of　the　narrow　valley　ahead　of　them。
　　
　　'e；　Trok　Uruk！'　Nefer　whispered。　'Order　the　charge！　Ride　into　history！'
　　
　　In　the　leading　chariot　in　the　front　rank　of　the　massed　forces；　Ishtar　the　Mede　crouched　beside　Trok's　massive　armoured　figure。　He　was　so　agitated　that　he　reac